


How To Train Your Ward

by Inuyaoi



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Adventure & Romance, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Master/Servant, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-07 06:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18404693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inuyaoi/pseuds/Inuyaoi
Summary: A human was not the gift Sesshomaru had anticipated. But he’s stuck with her just as much as she’s stuck with him—and with all of the demands and wants that come with reforming wayward Miko.





	1. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While this story started as a light and silly drabble, I might challenge myself to go beyond that. There's humor but not for the sake of it. The tone changes some several chapters in. Average chapter length will be 1000 words. 

In front of a girl, in the royal gardens, stood Inukimi. Next to her was a guard. Behind her, on the ground, lay a second guard whose shift was decidedly over,—a guard the girl had smitten as if he was nothing more than a common demon. Never had Sesshomaru seen such a dirty human in such dirty, greasy clothing. She was so filthy he could not determine if she was fair skinned or tanned.

“Explain.”

“Your loving mother has returned bearing gifts. A new ward! Happy birthday, firstborn.”

Sesshomaru blinked a vacant stare at his mother. He had wanted a dragon, and though she was tied and muzzled like one, that girl was no dragon.

“If I wanted a human I would have snatched one from the fields.”

He was serious, and Inukimi knew this. It’s just... she had other plans.

“She is yours. It’s her punishment for stealing from my carriage while I was out peacekeeping.”

Somewhere, in the depths of Sesshomaru's mind, was a distant scream. He insulted the law that let the grandly subject thieves to a life of servitude. He looked across his mother's shoulder, his eyes gleaming like coals as the girl indulged a rude scratch. It made  _him_  itch. Kami knows what her tangled hair harbored.

As if knowing his thoughts, Kagome returned a scathing glare of her own. She would have given him the finger if not for the guard forcing her arm to her side.

“I propose I eat her and be done with this partisan nonsense.”

“You could do that... and have her fight you down your throat, while altogether violating the gravest demon and human law.” Inukimi seemed to be thinking. “I wouldn’t recommend it. She is a Miko. Inexperienced but still a Miko.”

His bones felt like they were leaving his body. “What on  _earth_  am I supposed to do with a Miko?”

“Sesshomaru my dear, you will put her to good use, that’s what! I would do it myself but I’m far too busy. Far, far too busy. But imagine, if you will, a creature of healing under our thumb-claws. It will be unprecedented.” Rage walked on comatose feet and stopped before its subject. “She’s wild, this one. She wears a muzzle not because she bites, but because she dared to swear before the Lady of the West.”

“You wish for me to train her?” Sesshomaru had concerns, but all demon that he was he wouldn’t go jawing about them... yet.

Silent, Kagome turned away from him. Even her profile had a layer of grime.

“Precisely. And do not make excuses. You have only turned three-hundred and six and do not have pressing matters to tend to.” A warm spring day, Sesshomaru nearly rolled his eyes when his mother fanned herself. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m weary from my travels and wish to retire to my chambers. Train her well, Sesshomaru. I leave you to your endeavor!”

Sesshomaru sulked at her leaving until it was as if every time she had slighted him. He wanted to tear after her. He wanted to shake her as she sashayed with condescending grace, and he exhaled when she disappeared into the Shiro. 

His attention then shifted to Kagome. A gentle breeze rippling through his silk and fur, he stared in a studied calm, 

“You,” he said, “are filthy. You smell like grease and onions. Truly, it is suffocating.” Unsure where to begin, Sesshomaru regarded her with lordly disdain. 

A claw sliced through her gag, and for a beat, Kagome stared into the pale symmetry that was her master’s face. Had he not blinked he could not have been a living creature. Before blinking he was made of marble, an expressionless statue marred with indigo and magenta. 

Her awe ended there.

“Don’t just stand there sniffing. Bathe me, ya jerk!”


	2. Splashing and Screaming

"You jest!"

"I'm afraid I speak the truth."

"How can Sesshomaru-sama think so little of us? Centuries of loyal service and he demands we wash some wild woman in our communal bath?"

"I—oh.  _Here he comes_."

Praying dissent had not been heard, the servant dogs bowed at their superior. "My lord," crooned female voices.

"Is she bathed?"

Things crashed to the floor, and all looked to the door from which it came.

" _Have you lost your goddamn—I'm not going in there!"_

"It's a process," explained one hand. She was taller than the other and slightly older. "The stones… are not yet heated."

A loud splash.

" _It—it's like ice!"_

Sesshomaru would think of ways to correct her. Nothing nefarious. Humane. Kagome's filthy mouth, her screaming, would not be tolerated. Her being there was in the books. Cruel and unusual punishment would eventually be discovered.

"Check for fleas and lice."

"Most definitely," assured the smaller female.

Sesshomaru walked away.

"My lord?"

He did not stop. "What."

"Shall we...  _landscape_?"

_Hn?_ That spun him around. "Landscape?"

"You know," said the taller, making some obscene gesture, "for the mites..."

Sesshomaru's eyes grew wide. Humans could itch in strange places. "Yes. Especially there. Groom her thoroughly. Scrub her red. And be sure to use the sturdiest combs and brushes available on her hair."


	3. Red, Like A Petunia

Kagome soaked in sweet-smelling water for close to an hour. The servants had bathed her in scented oils of jasmine and chamomile, washed her matted hair, and stripped every nook and cranny. Especially the crannies. She was silky-smooth, like a seal, and felt drafts in areas she didn't know she had.

Sesshomaru would be pleased with her smell and appearance. He would find no vermin on her; the laborers had picked every louse and nit. It was everything else about her that was the problem-in particular her sly innuendo and vulgar language. The presence of respectable company had no effect whatsoever on the wretch.

Drying in a robe, Kagome's hands and feet were fastened to her seat. Tubside, two Inuyoukai brushed her hair. Though, it seemed more like a scalping as they yanked her left to right.

"Ow! Snatch me bald, why don't ya?" Had Kagome known she would be handled so rudely she would have never run through mud to evade the guards. She fussed until the doors slid open. In hobbled the wrinkliest, most decrepit Inuyoukai she had ever seen. Kagome did not know what  _breed_  Inuyoukai were, just that one favored a bulldog.

Hair smoothed and set high, Kagome breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, no more claws-and no more boar brushes. "And who are you?"

"Sechi, and be still. These hands aren't as steady as they used to be, and I will not have you making a mockery of my work."

Begrudgingly, Kagome allowed the old dog to paint her face without incident… for now.


	4. Lesson Number One

_Kagome._

_An unusual name for an unusual girl._

A scholar of sorts, Sesshomaru was an avid reader. His study held an impressive collection of books of various curiosities. But grand as it was, it paled in comparison to what could be found in the library. To better deal with the wait, and after searching through his father's archives, he quickly educated himself on the nature of humans—and what to do if one finds himself in possession of one.

He would have to return to his book.

Footsteps approached, mostly native but one foreign.

First to enter was Sechi, his oldest and most dependable hand.

"Well?"

"I did my best," was her grim reply.

Moments later, defiance stamped into his study. He had suspicions Kagome was fair but wasn't certain till now. Blue flattered her. His expression was stoic meeting hers. Surprisingly, underneath the dirt and grime, was something pleasant and soft, in spite of added coloring. But she could be better. Kagome was slightly over-lean around the arms and waist, and Sesshomaru surmised, according to the book he had set down, a few kilograms would do her well. She would be rightly fed in due time. For then, his nod, a barely there gesture, was as effective as words, and all the servants needed to see to know he was charmed by their work. And they had worked hard-if their states were any proof.

The servants turned to leave, the door closing with a finalizing click. And for some time, in silence, they gawked at each other, until he moved to adjust the white pelt slung over his shoulder.

"It's a little warm for a scarf, don't ya think? You're working it though… it's nice."

After all that Kagome was forced to endure, he had expected the experience to override some of her boorishness. On the contrary, she was familiar towards him, too familiar to suit him.

"It is not a scarf but part of me."

"You know what's hilarious? You talk the same way the servants do. Especially that wrinkly one, scolding me every five seconds, and saying stuff like, 'This kingdom will not be introduced to your behavior, on my authority as a crotchety old f—.'"

"If you favor your lips I suggest you shut them."

She was silent for but a moment. "Man, you royals are wound tight." Then, "If you were human how old would you be?"

Sesshomaru shifted in his chair. Small talk was fantastically overrated. He prayed the book he returned to was wrong about humans doing a lot of it.

"Eighteen, I gather."

"Same," she muttered, now looking and walking about his extravagant space. The queen lived for decadent furnishings, and consequently, the prince had to as well.

Minutes ticked before Kagome spoke again. "And what would you say it is that you  _do_  here?"

"Before you, whatever I wished— _and put it back_." Unbelievable. Grumbling, Kagome pulled out a trinket she had slipped into her clothing and returned it to the shelf. "Tell me something. What is your story? You were spared from terrible grief—death. Why are you the way you are? Why thievery?"

She blinked at him. "Oh. You're serious."

"Financial insecurity does not justify carriage heists."

"... you really wanna know?"

"Presently, you have most of my attention."

Kagome would keep some of her secrets.

"Let's just say I ain't from 'round here and I can't go back to where I'm from."

The prince sighed. "Very well. As you were."

"Some say I have a fine face, and others say they would pay for it. So I figured if I'm gonna end up like a whore with a penchant for acting, I might as well skip the whoring and get straight to the robbing. At least that way I'd get paid without having to look at some dirty bastard over breakfast, wondering why I always wake up on the wet side of the futon."

Sesshomaru shut his book. She had his full attention.

"But you are a Miko."

"Who can't find honest work, and rightfully so." She tugged at her clothing, not yet accustomed to the feel of silk and satin against her skin. "I used to run with bandits. People knew that. They didn't want to hire a priestess who'd steal the oil from their lamps before they could open their eyes and say Amen."

Sesshomaru had things to say but decided to stare.

"I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. But we were thick as thieves. Like family. And there's something endearing about a group of people who'd beat ten bells out of each other, then later gather 'round a fire to break bread as if nothing had happened."

She chuckled but something, somewhere, somehow had gone very wrong in her life.

"Aside from the fact that you are distinctly troubled, you and I clearly have different opinions on what constitutes endearment. Therefore, your lessons will begin at dawn."

"Lessons? What lessons?"

"Must the mind be so forgetful? I intend to make a lady out of you."

Kagome laughed the kind of laugh that had no humor in it. "Save your sermon for Sunday. You're preachin' into a hurricane." Sesshomaru frowned. "And don't think I don't know your type either. You probably get off thinkin' you can turn me into a delicate flower, don't ya? That I'll learn to survive with my head down and on the ejaculate of some coddled prince. Nasty bastard-now ain't  _that_  quaint."

Sesshomaru almost bared his fangs. Never,  _ever_  had anyone talked to him in such a way. Sincerely, he was stunned. What got him off was none of her business— _and none of her business_.

"Make a lady out of me, he says. Ha. You can try but I won't change."

Enough was enough.

Her backing away from his writing desk by no means restored his composure. It was his culture that provided him with the self-control he had practiced for hundreds of years. Slowly, he rose from his seat and stopped a scant foot from her face.

"It seems you are mistaken. You will change." Kagome scoffed and crossed her arms. "You see, under the law of the land, regrettably, you  _are_ mine. And barring cruelty, I can choose to do with my property whatever my heart so desires, and what I desire is worlds away from where you are now."

And even as he glared, Kagome deliberately took a stance with confidence beyond her reality; scoffing and looking upon him with sharpened eyes, as if he were merely a raccoon dog that was soon to be purified. Oh, Sesshomaru knew what that look meant. She wanted to  _do_  something to him, and when she balled her hands into fists he had half a mind to tell her to step lively. In lieu of that, Sesshomaru flicked his fringe from his eyes and recalled something he had just read.

"Until I say," he stated gravely. "That is how long you will lie upon cold cobblestones, marveling them." The icy edge of his threat, the words that came from his lips so thin, should have shorted her, but Kagome had a pesky habit of despiting herself.

"Stare at the  _floor?_ _Tch_. What're you nuts—"

"Stare until you love it." There was calm after thunder, a deep baritone. Kagome almost leaned in to hear the rest. "And come nightfall," Sesshomaru drawled on, "you will  _shiver_  in your cage and thank the stars for your merciful master and the generosity of his queen mother."

Without another word, and with the graceful cunning of a being who knew exactly what he was, Sesshomaru drifted to an exquisitely hand-crafted mantelpiece and pulled on a silken rope. Suddenly all of Kagome's gameness drained and pooled around her sandaled feet.

Moments later, in tottered a tiny green imp.

"M-my lord?"

If Kagome didn't understand his lordship she would learn on that day.

"Arrange a cell," Sesshomaru ordered with a rare smirk,—and boy, did his retainer hate it when he smirked like that! "I wish to teach my ward her first lesson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this is not a dark story.


	5. Itching To Appeal

Myoga peeped from behind a scroll on Sesshomaru's desk—who went about his work, scratching with his quill pen.

"May I say something?"

"If you must."

"Do you intend to ruin Kagome's mind?"

"A wild question," remarked Sesshomaru, though not the least bit concerned.

"Humans… aren't like us. Their eyesight is poor, and in the dark madness makes quick work of them—too quick."

"Madness?" Sesshomaru scoffed as he dipped the feather and continued to write. "It has been two weeks. You're exaggerating."

"But I've witnessed it."

"You mean you fed on them."

And so came the world's tiniest tantrum. "That's beside the point!"

"Even so, if the girl had come humbly she would not be where she is."

If Myoga were to climb Sesshomaru's ego and lose his footing, the fall would break his neck. "Relent, young master. Do you hear me? They need fresh water and sunshine."

"A thief or a plant… it is no mind to me."

"Shame on you!" Myoga suddenly cried. On a pale hand he had jumped to point several of his own. "If I am to die for heresy, then let me shout it again. Shame on you! I can hardly believe it—a cruel heir born of benevolent loins."

The lust to maim boiled through Sesshomaru as he glared at the tiny footprints that had ruined his report, at the speck taking refuge behind a container of quills.

"Is my blood not enough? You came here this evening to harass as well?"

Myoga chanced a peek. "Kagome insulted you... didn't she."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"She must have. You seem tense, on guard."

Guarded, Sesshomaru leaned back, as much as he ever leaned into his chair.

How could he share what Kagome had said? He struggled to sort through it all, and one remark had hurt more than others. It hadn't entered his mind until she mentioned it—hadn't left it either. It refused to, staying with him through every sip of tea, and even while tending to his beasts, his favorite break from all things. But after much research, Sesshomaru conceded to Kagome. She was right. He could  _have_  her. There were no laws to prohibit him and no authority to prevent it. Neither fist or weapon may harm her without reason, but if his will was to derive comfort from her, many would collectively turn blind, deaf and dumb to it.

Though he is forbidding in nature, his bias for discipline robust, he is also of high moral order. Soliciting those whose consent may become irrelevant on impulse is the very definition of wicked. Implied here too is the presumption that, inherently, demons are morally bankrupt and ruled only by biological urges.

Myoga called out to him.

But to another offense, Sesshomaru seethed. Petty,—inherited from his mother—his jaw went rigid as resentment possessed him. Kagome had looked at him as if he were something pathetic, as if he struggled in that department.

To have had enlightened her would've been an intolerable violation of privacy, but truly he wanted for nothing. He knew the rise and fall of his name on a breathy sigh, and though he had never entertained a succession of mistresses, hardly did he shrink from them. He was merely indifferent, a philosopher who didn't care for the sound a heart makes when unable to take apathy in stride.

Again Myoga called, but he could go on!

Of all the souls he had encountered, Kagome's was the foulest. She was the opposite of pleasant in any and all contexts. And all the work that was put beautifully into her, the skilled hands that had transformed her into something almost elegant, was a waste.

_Damn you, wretch._

He could rage in secret forever, just as he did over the past few weeks.

"What would your mother say?" At long last, Myoga broke through bitter musings.

But Sesshomaru would play, unwilling to be worked into new and unusual passions.

"Oh, what lovely fares brought from the mainland." A perfect impression of his mother. Then, in his usual deadpan: "The trade ships have docked. If you are thinking about jumping  _on_  her, you will be waiting till quarter moon."

Everything about Myoga's posture drooped, even his mustache. "Heed my words. A prince without pity is vulnerable to treachery. Be tolerant and not cruel, for humans soon grow weary. You will never reach Kagome if that happens."

"One could make a case for cruelty, and whether or not it is used well or badly."

"Indeed. One could—if he failed to see the differences between demons and humans."

Sesshomaru quietly analyzed his own narrative. "These humans… are so susceptible? Truly?"

Myoga gave a sagely nod. "I speak now to reach you before you cross those burning sands towards and into malignancy. And what of your sire?"

"What of him."

"He proved one can be a gracious leader, a leader deserving of love without being too indulgent. And you wish to rule, do you not? You lust for it?"

There was nothing—besides, maybe a new dragon—Sesshomaru wanted more than all the things in the world.

Still, he wasn't moved quite yet.

"It may be ideal to be both feared and loved, but when necessity demands judgment, is it not better to be feared?"

Myoga scratched at his chin. " _Well…_ "

"And is adoration not my birthright?"

"Careful. Your arrogance… I never said—"

Sesshomaru held up his hand. "Say no more. As I see it, Kagome can love at her convenience… but she  _will_  fear at mine."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Myoga.
> 
> Also, the closing dialogue is a nod to Niccolò Machiavelli's The Prince.
> 
> In particular:
> 
> "It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."
> 
> "Men love at their convenience but they fear at the convenience of the prince."


	6. Come Softly To Me

Kagome endured on the strength of her soul until she couldn't.

It was on her fourteenth day did her fortitude run on its own out the narrow confines of her prison cell and into the darkness. That terrible darkness conspired to be her mind's undoing, blurring the lines between wakefulness and sleep.

That and the rats.

They came only to share her rations and scurried when the guard dogs returned.

Kagome didn't like rats, but she didn't fear them either. When one crawled up her arm she had no qualms about grabbing it, nor did she mind hearing its cries as it flew across the room.

Regret's miserable chill curled her arms to her chest.

How long, she wondered, head hung low. How long till her punishment's passing? More importantly, how long till daybreak?

Then, she sensed something. She did not know if it was  _something_ she had sensed before. All there ever was to sense and hear were the rat's insistent chittering and squealing. However, something she did sense, and it incited a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature.

That something urged her onto her feet, where she held in frantic curiosity—and abruptly realized her legs were moving forward.

It was a palpable presence; a feeling of pressure, of fresh air thrusting itself into a stale space.

Suddenly there was light, and she was staring into cold eyes, eyes as cold as the view down into a frozen stream; arctic ice and somehow burning.

Magenta and white, silver and gold—the relief she felt seeing that demon's miserable face was almost offensive.

Strangely secret and arrogant, Sesshomaru's expression moved little despite his passions. He loathed her. In his state, with what her being his meant, all he could do was loathe. The invading demands of the queen mother for a respectable Miko slave drew poison to his fingertips. He wished to rid himself of her, wished to thrust her out the gates of the Western Shiro so that he may forfeit his right as her master.

His confidant—who for some obscure reason—had suggested to him all the ways of making her favorable, despite the girl being worthless at best, and a complete bastard at worst. Why encourage kindness when cruelty could be justified? Compelling evidence of his beliefs stood wearily in its well-deserved cage, breathing in dank air. Sesshomaru could easily tell by her eyes, all dark with suffering, her body dirty and thin, her skin—

_Her skin._

Unfamiliar with it, alarm was a powerful and disturbing force that felt like a hand at his throat.

That complexion was healthy on his person, a hue of vitality but sickly on her. And as pity hit him fully, his features moved independently of one another, as far from indifference as his face could shift.

" _Warmth, fresh food, and fulfilling interaction."_

" _What is that?" He had asked in route to the dungeon, to which Myoga replied:_

" _The human condition."_

Indeed hers was the very definition of poor.

Shame came seconds later. His beasts were treated better than her. His bear, his two-head, his recently hatched lizard-dragon—all lived in meticulously kept stables. Subjects of research he had explained to raised brows and patronizing stares, but objects of his fabled affection in secret. Even so, the girl was no lady, demon or beast. More of an it, a that, they thing who was perhaps on the brink of becoming word shy.

"What are you gawking at?" Barked Kagome.

Perhaps not.  _Of course not_.

Pity was something he would revisit. Till then he'd classify her as a  _"what."_

Kagome's outburst favored defensive posturing. She sighed not knowing what to say. Sesshomaru, however, didn't have that problem.

"Apologize," he said. "Apologize for all the things you have said, for disrespecting me in a disgusting way."

" _That's not what I told you to say!"_

Hot irritation gripped Sesshomaru's throat. The flea had  _one_ more time to call him down before he scratched him for good.

Kagome blinked once, twice. She had begun her sorries but that whisper was too curious to ignore. "Who…. what was that?"

"Me," said the tiny voice.

A mirthless laugh. "Me it says." Either Sesshomaru could toss his voice or it was one of the rats. It immediately changed her attitude. "Please…." She looked to the fingers holding the torch and considered kissing those razor-tipped claws of his. "Get me  _the hell_ out of here."

"Hn," purred Sesshomaru, for her expression was beyond delicious.

"Up here," said something. "Here—no, no to the left. Well done! You found me. Greetings, Lady Kagome. It is I, Myoga. My apologies for worrying you, but I too will be helping you find your dainty feet."

"No kidding?"  _Not crazy. I'm not crazy._  "Hey! Wait a minute," cried Kagome. "Why were you worried about me having fleas when you've got a talking one perched  _comfy-cozy_  on your shoulder?"

That wounded Myoga. "I am not the flea they were checking for."

"Not the demon kind anyway," added Sesshomaru. "But nevermind it. Your regrets, let's hear them."

Solemn-like, the slave girl stated her peace—but not before exchanging a long, accusatory glare with her master. Certain freedoms were henceforth denied, their reason staring in kind with shared hatred.

Myoga didn't see that as a bad thing. For one, the girl deserved it, the thief, and two, there was something more here. A beginning neither had realized yet, beyond some scant shred of regard. Both wished to avoid being the source of their greatest anxiety.

At long last, Sesshomaru let her out, and guarded freedom came with the gate's groan as she stepped out and was given the torch.

Kagome followed his lead.

"This one will now present you with a series of conditions."

"Figures," grumbled Kagome.

"You will work and be worked properly." As Sesshomaru took his time gathering his words, Kagome noticed that she had been the only one shut up in that dreadful place. Empty. All of the other rooms were empty.

"... long, hard and vigorously," resumed a voice that sounded suspiciously provocative. Kagome's heart  _revved_ as Sesshomaru stopped and faced her. He was so close and thrilling that there was an onset dire need for her to sit. "And above all else, continuously... until you are exhausted beyond measure."

The demon, his stare, was to her a glimpse into something sensual, yet perilous. Autopilot took over.

"What work?"

"... yourself."  _That was... odd._  "A Miko who cannot heal might as well not be called a Miko at all. So you will learn to heal the odds and ends of what demonic energy cannot stitch, because if you do not…." He left her breathing space and made for the staircase. "If you do not the best you can hope for is a life of pointless, mind-numbing drudgery... or the dungeon."

Done and done.

"Tell her the other bits, my lord. The perks."

Kagome forgot about the flea. He had jumped from him and sat cozy-like on  _her_  shoulder.

Life was strange.

"Slavery with _perks?"_ She said to Myoga. It attracted Sesshomaru's casual regard.  _"_ This is a dream, really it is."


	7. Irritated Curiosity

As his name suggests, Sesshomaru is perfection. He is elegance and majesty manifest. His expression is regal and beautifully angled. His demeanor is calm and of level composure. He is one of sound movement carried with distinction and direction. And though he allows unprovoked conversation out in society, seldom will he solicit it. High praise deserved to be his—not that he sought it. Life had been fairer to him than the ordinary demon, that was all.

Therefore, intelligent speculation was innate. To marvel, a rare event.

But marvel Kagome he did. And it was the strangest feeling for him, a being with the power to demand obedience from most which lived, yet powerless to shrug off the wonder that was Kagome stuffing her face.

In one of the Shiro's grand dining halls, Kagome brandished two scones, making a real mess as she licked fig preserves from her fingers.

Jaken glared at her in disgust. Marmalades imported from mainland China were too rare a treat to be wasted on the likes of her, and the least the glutton could do was chew.

"For manner's sake," said Jaken, "slow down."

"Lay off me, troll. I'm starving."

"Troll? Why you little pork orc—that's offensive, you know! And I'll have you know—"

"Jaken." When Sesshomaru talked all had  _better_  pause. Through some miracle, his gaze was on Kagome's face and not the rice on her breasts. "Let me make myself clear."

"Crystal clear!" Hyped Jaken.

"If you think for one second—"

"One second!"

Sesshomaru exhaled. Jaken recoiled. This was his reality now—and the first of many fights between girl and imp. They were to be enemies at this point, meant so, with dispositions fated to clash.

The prince was jealous of himself, of the carefree solitude that he once had. He longed for it. His subjects may do and say as they pleased amongst themselves. It didn't bother him. What did bother him was interruptions. And not for naught had he learned to speak harmfully when a dull tone seemed ignored. His threat was a perilous suggestion of pain and regret, the prospect of looking up from the bottom of one's fine boot silencing Jaken.

And in the sweet, sweet silence, Sesshomaru suddenly realized he had forgotten what he tried to say. He looked to the servant dog standing by the shoji door, still as death and breathing softly lest anger is flung her way.

Kagome concentrated on her meal. She wanted Sesshomaru to believe she couldn't feel the weight of his gaze or notice the subtle way his tongue flicked his fang. Unsettling best described this cast, being looked upon as probable prey. But Kagome knew demons. His look was perturbed, a combination of irritated curiosity.

_He's studying me..._

If not for Jaken's mouthing off, it was not certain how long they would have warred with their eyes alone.

"M'lord," Kagome said suddenly, as if it were an emergency, "let's make a deal."

Developed in the hardness of life, her address sounded queer to Sesshomaru. Her accent lacked warmth and gave little for flowery expression and lies. It's not to say he deemed her stupid. Quite the contrary. His eyes saw exactly; the right instincts carried by his nerves. Here was something  _clever_. To climb aboard his mother's coach, under demon noses, and to have had the audacity to browse at her leisure proved she thought quickly. So he could not disregard her, set progressions and moralize about her. Not before learning the nature of her.

However, a proper honorific  _was_  a good start.

"One does not make deals with the help, but he is willing to hear propositions."

"I propose we send her back. The rats mourn, my lord."

Water down Kagome's bitter back. "One time," she said, dark and tight, "let me swear  _one_  time."

To survive his game was to play by his rules. To appeal to his better nature, however snooty it was, was the cheat code.

It could be worse. Myoga had been right about the perks. True, she was burdened by spiritual power and pressured to master it, but swearing allegiance to Inuyoukai was a small price to pay for the moistest, most succulent pork she had ever tasted. Three days since leaving her dark chamber, Kagome had been presented with spreads the sad dream about on hungry days. Kagome had the hunger. If thrown into the dungeon she'd reach out for it in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat.

"That depends," hummed Sesshomaru. "Will you learn a lady's tongue?"

"I'm guessin' I don't have much of a choice." A fine brow, arched and condescending, proved it. "Yeah, sure. Whatever—I mean—requesting to use it now…. m'lord."

She could choke on the hostility growing in her heart, calling lordly to him. Still, Jaken could eat a dick. Kagome's thoughts were wild. Only her body had thus been tamed. Sesshomaru is who she would begrudgingly obey, not his personal bootlicker until told otherwise and not before. Life taught her that power was to be respected. Behind power was the authority to enforce it, authority that hurt, authority that could express itself with dungeons and claws and gods knew what else.

"Granted," said her master.

Kagome wiped her mouth and immediately faced Jaken. " _Fuck_ —and I can't stress this enough— _you."_

She did not swear a second time. One golden flash was sufficient to silence the entire table.

Fed and watered, it was time to put her to work.

Sesshomaru's long body unfolded until he stood high. "Come," he ordered, "your busywork."

Kagome stood, her footing shaky. "You never told me what kind of work I'd be doing."

She was feeble after spending two weeks surviving on just enough to not starve. To rectify this problem, Sesshomaru will make her lift things, put them down and pick them up until she regained bodily strength.

Be it reiki or youki, both came easier to the healthy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wax on, wax off, Kagome. Make those floors shine.


	8. Where The Little Ones Are

A bucket in one hand and rags in the other, Kagome opened the door. Her spirit fell. Behind the door was destruction. From the hopeless, run-down servant, the pitter-patter, the echoing laughter, she expected terrible grief. The source of it was in the distance, in an open space, slapping bare feet against hardwood floors. Kagome was not prepared for the harbingers of misery, disorder, and pain, nor was she prepared to hear a confession upon walking in.

The servant had declared she could take no more and fled.

Kagome stood dumbfounded. Her job was to clean, not to babysit  _demon_  children. And soon they would return, ready to terrorize despite a hard hour's play.

She could hear them. They were coming.

Kagome contemplated fleeing with the demoness. But the punishment…

She had recently discovered dog demons could summon whips. Whips of light could separate skin from flesh, and claws could sever what the whips had left behind. She cringed at the thought of one scoring through the air, in route to her back. Was it Myoga who explained the long-lived cannot treat the short-lived cruelly? What did that even mean? Were twenty lashings humane and twenty-one inhumane? The terms and conditions were vague, and she had questions concerning Sesshomaru's rights to the skin on her ass.

Then, from the other side of the door, she heard an Inuyoukai directing the children. Its voice wiry, worn from centuries of use, and reminded her of teachers past, teachers very nearly forgotten. Eight years lived in this era and still Kagome struggled to think about her previous life without sighs and tears.

That home was best forgotten. That home was as far away as her freedom, as far away as the new home she had stumbled upon eight years ago. But alone in this Shiro, it could not be done well. She feared being ripped away from all she knew for a  _second_  time would be her undoing, and should sadness manifest, it will fester.

_Enough of that._

There was pressure in being Sesshomaru's ward. More, the pressure in being a lady. Her eyes slid down her costly array. How was she to clean dressed in clothing worthy of stealing?

"That's how this whole thing got started."

"How what got started?"

She spun around.

A demon-child, dressed in white and no taller than the curve of her hip. Like all Inuyoukai, he had golden eyes, which were large and expressive. He stood there, his lashes a mile long, his stare nudging her with open curiosity. A wistful tilt of his head and her heart burst into joy. His heart-shaped face was disgustingly adorable.

"Why are you talking to yourself? Are you lonely?"

_Yes._ "Not at all."

The child gave a thoughtful nod.

"Are you deranged?"

"What?" On second thought, not so cute. "No."

" _Liar_ ," he sneered, revealing a distinct lack of upper canine teeth. "You are most definitely mad. You stole from Lady Inukimi."

He had her there.

"Okay." She sighed. "Maybe a little crazy."

"Only a little. Only because you won't do it again."

"I'd do it again. I'd be quicker with my selection, is all."

Kagome could hear the gears spinning in his head as she began to clean. The demon-child observed her without a word, until there were many words. It was after she had answered a million questions did giggling rise from them. He was welcomed company after all. His youthfulness helped her to a delighted state not experienced in the week spent scrubbing floors.

The child had called her correctly. She was comparatively alone. Except by the nation of Sesshomaru; its sole resident. Unlike the child, he would never sympathize with her. He would never realize poor interaction is not equal to fulfilling interaction, not till his heart was motivated to beat, or feelings to vibrate.

But it was to the playful glint in the child's eyes did she drop both her rags and haunches. But he did not move. He looked at her as if confused by her stance. Then, suddenly, he understood her invitation and fell to his hands and knees.

Foolishness wasn't encouraged in the Kingdom, but it was enjoyed in secret.


	9. The Prince Can Love

Centuries ago, when an egg hatched, and what had hatched progressed like into love, Sesshomaru was vaguely aware of the feeling. He loved his mother and father, yet in his mind, he was not sure what  _that_  love was, only that it formed from an empty space in his heart. But Sesshomaru was not expressive. Not in that way. Even as a child he was too sedated, too rigidly poised in character. Too long had he fostered apathy that he was never sensational or absurd with the presentation of his love. His love was a portrait of reverence; a discreetly concealed adoration that only by his steady regard did he express it—as he did now, and by the perpetual following with golden eyes of his dragon.

A-un fell to the ground in a grassy clearing outside the Shiro. Beneath the setting sun, along with a chorus of crickets and cicadas, arose a miserable cry. It was full-throated and regretful and came from the left head. The right head shared similar sentiments, but preferred moping to keening. He then moved to his name, his klutzy, juvenile gait staggering side to side. At his master's feet did he lower two heads, as if ashamed. Sesshomaru arched a brow. Last winter, demonic clouds had formed under A-un's feet. Today, those feet had left the ground. It was the most one could expect from a pubescent two-head.

"Do not weep." Sesshomaru's voice was even and affecting. "You are capable, and you will fly."

His praise was a precious commodity, but to A-un it was generously given. Dragons are notoriously difficult to tame. It was only by the dragon being a vegetarian and the dog being a Daiyoukai with great—though selective—patience did it work. Sesshomaru could say with confidence, from his experiences with him, this was a sensitive creature powerless to resist the charm of kindness. Sesshomaru was kindest to A-un. The dragon was scolded, but he did not know the sound of his master's shout, nor did he believe his master's claws were capable of harm.

Kagome's face flashed before Sesshomaru's eyes, and it was his privilege to detest the walking embodiment of a stomach with a pair of lips. What had been suggested to him, bestowing something otherly with his limited consideration, was ridiculous.

He forced the girl from his thoughts as quickly as she appeared.

Then, to an expectant gaze, he asked a question he had always asked and would ask until his dragon's defining triumph.

"Will tomorrow be the day?"

And A-un had always answered in the same manner and form— a grunt and a heavy head for either side of the prince's shoulders.

"Sesshomaru-sama!" Someone cried from far across the grass. That someone was green and carried a two-headed staff as if it were his lifeline. "I've found you."

He always did.

"Quickly, Jaken. I'm busy."

The imp bowed low.

"Please accept my sincerest apology and assurances that I will not make a habit of this. It is important, my lord."

Sesshomaru turned to A-un. "Off you go." And as an afterthought, said, "Graze well but  _not_  in the rose garden."


	10. A Case For Violence

Kagome was missing.

Her evening meal had become cold, which meant she was in the Shiro but not where she was supposed to be. Despite this, Sesshomaru did not hurry. He strode grandly about the castle with careless ease—until he heard noises that delayed but did not divert.

His pace slowed to a creep.

Snarls and growls amongst dogs were not unusual. Mere displeasure—or conflict escalating from inaction to action. But Inuyoukai did well to not work themselves into lathers of rage. There were rituals for that sort of thing, and that ceremony was not till mid-summer.

However, someone was in agony, the sounds so distinct he scantily knew the cry of a troubled pup. That made it all the more alarming.

Sesshomaru was a blur, a vanishing afterimage with violent plans. He ended in a vacant hall, at shoji doors, before his hair settled in the wake of his whirlwind.

A wild twitch, honed and ready to carve, slid back the door.

Sesshomaru didn’t understand what was happening.

Kagome was dangling a child by his ankle. He snarled and growled as she shook him, laughed and yowled as her hand moved over his belly—

From stillness to acceleration, Sesshomaru’s speed was astounding. He had skipped initiations and was at her throat with the tips of his claws.

Kagome didn’t understand what was happening either. She lost herself in foolishness, had given rise to horseplay and happy antics. One moment she was tickling without mercy, the next, claws.

She did not know killing perfection for what it was, a lacerating flash of butchery. Claws dug into delicate flesh. She dared a glance; up the length of his silk-covered arm, to the hair edging his tightened jaw. His eyes made her shudder. It was a look that, effectively, resisted understanding and reason, as though intelligence had never been in them.

“Release him,” he said, on the verge of penetration, “release the pup or I’ll lay you open.”

She put him down real  _slow-like_ .

Sesshomaru briefly regarded the demon-child as if expecting him to explain his smallness.

“You dare harm what is mine?”

The child fled, leaving Kagome stunned and dazed.

“He… he’s  _yours?”_

“What must I say to make you understand  _everything_ is mine?” He spoke in a distinct baritone, but with such a fearful weight it was his words and not his claws that had cut. “No matter. You will learn. Even if it involves introducing you to greater discomforts.”

Merciful powers! Now she understood.

Here stood more than a spoiled brat, more than a face as pleasing as his form. He was very much a lordling, born to call, his birthright delayed but due. Though Inukimi’s peacekeeping efforts were not counterfeit, she merely warmed the throne for him. By the virtue of vast acres, all which breathed within and beyond the Shiro was to be his. Sesshomaru could not escape his instincts, nor could he forsake them. He held too many. He had thought he saw a vulgar offense; his own being mistreated, and his own was to be defended against all forces—even to the extent of violating treaties.

Now a perilous aura pervaded the room, thick in the air and bringing water to Kagome’s eyes.

It triggered something in her.

“We were only playing,” she testified. “Really we were.”

Tensions persisted; her hand at her own throat, her every backward step his step forward.

Then, to Sesshomaru’s complete and utter shock, the hand at his wrist started to sting. It gripped and glowed boldly, as if he was no longer the terrible thing that he was. The sheer novelty of the situation betrayed his deadpan, the strain of his awe to show itself being the cause.

_What is this madness?_

That was potential, which had laid dormant in the fibers of Kagome’s soul. The Ying to his Yang. The way from fisticuffs to forgiveness. Get the demon to realize he trifled with divinity. That’s what it was.

… _. you son of a bitch._

Refusing to be a victim of injustice, Kagome captured and held Sesshomaru’s gaze hostage—at a high cost of spirit. His force was like a lead cloak upon her shoulders. He was transcendent, she knew, and he observed the effect of his aura, her struggling, staring with terrifying concentration.

Her push back—which was more like a desperate thrust—only came at the gravest of times. The first had been an encounter with a centipede, the second, a poor guard, and now,  _him_ ; fangs and claws, poison and slaughter.

They were at the other’s whim. A slip of a hook or a flash of light would forfeit two lives. 

The stalemate continued. And did Sesshomaru seethe! His hatred for prolonged touching and holding was to a unique degree. It was awkward, unnatural, and too strongly did he covet himself. He had to be at large, on the loose, brushing against no one except by his will.

Kagome straightened her spine. She demanded consideration, her eyes urging him to _come in and shut the door._  Sesshomaru leaned a little ways back. He looked away, then back to her, his assessment quick. This was a stupid hill to die on. He withdrew from her. His effort to keep his dignity was valiant; easily turning aside as if she was beneath him. A farce, a delicate moment given to respect and contempt. Power had recognized power, and Kagome's, by no conscious effort, ensured a mild approach from him to her, from this day and all days forward.

This unsettled Sesshomaru. He lionized the privileges his status had granted. Now he stood in limbo. Without a fixed power differential between master and slave, Kagome may never come to heel. Even more concerning, she could give him grief by way of purification, something demonic energy cannot easily stitch.

Later he would seek out Myoga for questioning. For then, he strayed to some perceived indecency.

“Smooth your hair and tighten your sash.”

Kagome breathed in. The audacity. The raw, dauntless audacity of him. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—apologize. But every word didn't need to be an argument. She did as told. 

“Wrong,” he said.

“There ain’t—”

_"Ain't."_  It was his personal business to give her an aristocrat’s tongue. “Tighter. It’s loose about the waist… and bust.”

Kagome stopped. “Are you… are you talking out the side of your neck?”

Sesshomaru stared, dumb and inarticulate. “I don’t know what that means.”


	11. Whether He Likes It Or Not

Sesshomaru moved tensely. The gait of a vexed demon. He muttered vile things, wishing the Miko terrible nightmares, for he knew she slept soundly amongst demons tonight. 

He walked on, up and down steps, along corridors, sometimes turning right and sometimes turning left, climbed a staircase,—caught two lovers in secret passion—crossed the length of a hallway, till at last, he arrived at the north wing. 

The fragrance of rose was strongest in this hall.

Sesshomaru stopped at a door. Silence lay all over, as if the walls themselves were in wonder of him being there. He did not stand at this door often, and here he debated. 

Myoga’s advice had left much to be despised. He was told to speak kindly to Kagome, to handle with care, appeal to  _her_ better nature. Hearing this had put the nastiest snarl in his throat. The words hurt him deeply. But there are worse hurts—Reiki, in particular. The angry burn under a long sleeve was evidence of this. 

Eventually, pride gave way to need. He slid back the door and entered. 

Perfume heavy in the air, the room had been furnished by a lover of all things beautiful. Amongst her glare and glitter, her fine tables and chairs, Inukimi regarded Sesshomaru from behind the rim of her cup. 

She would leave soon. Business this time, and deep into human colonies judging by the leather pouches on the table. Demons didn’t value gold and silver like humans. But money buttered them up, made them real friendly-like and kept Miko and Monk at ease.

“Have you enough?”

“I believe so,” she replied, “but that is not why you’re here.”

“No. It’s not. Kagome is… difficult.” 

“Hn?” Inukimi set her cup down. “You thought she would easily submit?”

“No longer,” he said. “Still, I don’t want the responsibility.”

Inukimi’s laugh was high and bright. “You have a dragon of all beasts, but a girl is what sends you to your mother at the darkest hour.”

Here Sesshomaru put on a great performance. He remained utterly impassive. Nothing in his eyes, nothing on his skin revealed any emotion. 

“... I like A-un.”

“It seems you’re only capable of liking those who appeal to your ego. And even then, you dislike most. A nasty quirk, if you ask me.” 

Sometimes quiet is violent.

“I’ve been reading,” said Inukimi, “about humans.”

“A daring pastime for you.” 

It was like looking into a mirror, seeing his smirk on her face. Time might reveal more of his father’s features, till then he was all her.

“You’re going about this the wrong way.”

_Of course, she breathes._ “Explain.”

“What you’re using her for… it’s a gross misplacement of her talents.”

“I’m doing my best with what was rudely given. And is she not mine? My slave? According to the law—” 

 

“The _law_ does not imply slave labor. It implies allegiance. I told you, having a Miko is unprecedented. Her being here under our claws, and not _at_ them, that is.” Sesshomaru perked a bit. “Yes. I know about that.”

“What then… what do you want me to do with her?”

 

“Keep her near and become familiar with her. You spend a lot of time in the stables doing Kami all. Take her with you.”

He listened to these words in the way a man prays when lying on his deathbed. Kagome at his side, and not left to toil, meant he would never know a moment’s peace. 

“ _I will not._ ”

“You will.”

“... mother.”

“Say yes, Sesshomaru.”

Her command was enough. Only to her, his mother, would he yield this way. Until his fifth century and not a day later. He submitted with damaged but princely grace, enduring the rare demand as one would endure a painful tooth extraction. 

“Cheer up… if you can. I won’t have you descending into a fit of despair and brooding more than your usual self.” Too late. He glared miserably at her. “Besides, this endeavor will make you more perfect than what you already are.”

“Your will be done,” he said, pure acid. “But do not patronize me.” 

“Oh _no_ …” Inukimi stood, Sesshomaru taller still, a head above her. “Don’t you patronize me _._ ”

Looking down at her triumphant expression had a depressing effect on him.

“By the way,” she started, casual as ever. “Have you practiced grappling lately? The contests are nearing.”

“No need,” said Sesshomaru, more rasp than voice. 

Inukimi sat and took her cup. “Yes, well... you being the lightning flash that you are, this time your opponent is an expert grappler.” She sipped her tea. “... skilled with a blade too.”

Sesshomaru scoffed. She must be joking. Neither in her or his father were there any deficiencies. None in the generation before them either, and  _especially_ not in him. He always won with a perfect score, just as his parents had. He was keen with a sword, with no equal in hand to hand combat. And in his true form, Sesshomaru was quick and cunning; an elusive blur of white that baffled and slashed, leaving rivals bleeding and snapping teeth on empty air.

“Are you finished?”

Her warning ignored, Inukimi let him wait so it might sink in. It did not. Hard lessons were in store for the dog who refused to fight like one. Such as a cat when seized by prey, he might not know how to react to it. And should he fall, though he’d inherit everything still, he would never know honor again. The scorn of every dog will be against him, the sneer of every ally.

“I suppose I am,” his mother said. Then, she uttered something that darkened his face and promptly swung him around and towards the door. “Are you so bitter that you will not return what is owed?” 

He stopped but did not turn. 

… _the moody nonsense she tortures me with._

He felt her condescending smile on his back. It sent a twitch down his fur. He might swallow his tongue if it meant never saying it again. 

She called him, a croon in her voice. 

Sesshomaru snapped about, his hair swinging around him. He delivered what she wanted in his bitterest deadpan, and then he was gone, cringing and walking tensely all the way out the door. It always keyed him up and ruffled his fur, expressing his love verbally—much to the amusement of his mother. 

She accepted him for what he was long ago, after learning his nature was not a matter of growing pains. There were traces of emotion in him. That she believed. But as Sesshomaru would tell anyone himself, he knew nothing about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Sess but
> 
> “There are a few, uh, provisos. Ah, a couple of quid pro quos…”
> 
> “No refunds, and no exchanges or substitutes.”
> 
> -Genie, Disney’s Aladdin.


	12. That Prickling Sensation

There it was again.

That familiar pressure, a quiet storm on the move.

Kagome had dreaded their reunion. Not since last week, after the  _incident,_ had she seen him, or anyone else. Not even Myoga, the lousy coward. She had no one to tell that her skirmish with Sesshomaru had changed her. But if he was as sharp as she knew he was, there was a high probability he’d notice upon walking in.

She steadied herself hearing the latch’s click.

_Oh boy._

_Lord Prick himself._

Arrogance and the decency to knock came from separate places in Sesshomaru. He rudely entered and crossed the room with conditions to tell.

Suddenly he paused once and twice.

Kagome felt worry’s nip.

Sesshomaru had certainly noticed, but there was only one way to confirm his theory. He stared at her, his eyes darkening, almost fathomless. Then, an order deep in tone, his words clipped. By his side, he said, and Kagome obeyed without a word. Moving towards him, she wondered what his game was until he seized her wrist.

Sagely advice played throughout Sesshomaru’s mind, and he maintained his grip accordingly as he pulled Kagome in close enough for her to catch the faintest hint of fresh water and wild winds.

He proceeded to touch her. Neither sexual or loving but with a cool detachment. He poked and pulled, smoothed this wrinkle and that until expletives rose up and out her throat—which he immediately scolded her for. He reminded Kagome of her position, that she belonged to him, that her mouth was his to command, her body his to dress and to tolerate. She knew. She simply loathed the way he said it, loathed his touch, loathed him.

He continued, his hands rough and thorough. Again she shouted something that was not consent. But even this she was not allowed to say. The prickling of claws on her cheeks cut her short.

“Bear it,” he said, completely unfazed by her wretched face, “and be quiet.”

“If you let me go!” Kagome reared back. His grip tightened. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting,” he answered, and far too casual in the wake of molestation.

“For what?”

“For you,” he heard himself say. There were voices and footsteps outside her door. When the steps echoed down the hall, his gaze fell to her, and with it a heightened moment of intense scrutiny. Again Sesshomaru waited, but again nothing came. And if anyone were to ask he would deny the thrill he felt. If Kagome were to ask then she’d thrill him anyway. She was helpless and didn’t have a chance.

Of course the point of this, his handling, was to confirm that, presently, she lacked what he had plenty of. Her powers were dormant and spent while his were active and in excess.

…  _but such is mortality._

With supreme confidence, in the absence of consequence, he gathered her in for casual inspection. Submission was certainly due and it was his right to collect it.

Kagome straightened her back, her heartbeat picking up as light fell on his face at a fresh angle. She had a distinct feeling he savored this, her squirming in his grasp, inspecting her as if she were a fine young filly for purchase. The shock—exhausted power too—of it all kept her hands by her side, and just one of his held her, the other too at his hip.

This could have been more suggestive than it was.

It turned into something else.

“Man,” she groaned. It was jarring, the rapt in his eyes, the cunning nuance of claws against her cheek. She saw herself running down a corridor she had never been. “Weird, weird,” she intoned, “you’re so weird.”

Focus returned to him. Whatever realm Sesshomaru had been in her voice pulled him back into this one.

He had only half-listened. He hummed a questioning  _hn_ at her, as it was his custom.

Kagome spread her arms—couldn’t see them because he hadn’t turned her loose—and presented Sesshomaru to himself.

But he couldn’t pull away, nor did he want to. Before he wanted to prove a point, to show his possession and to have her experience it in all his grandeur. Now he watched his fingers pressing into the contours of her jawline, saw that it was fuller and felt more than apathy! The reason for this escaped him. Kagome was still a waif, a tiny thing really, but, recovering, healthier. Sesshomaru was no bleeding heart, out to save the dregs of society, but he wanted her better if just to see it before his very eyes.

He let her go.

She threw a fit.

“Pick one,” Kagome told him. “You can’t be a creep bastard  _and_  a prick all at once.”

His brows drew together at the odd assortment of words. Then realization. These were insults. Frankly, his behavior had shocked him more than her vulgarities.

Deflection seemed promising.

“It amazes me,” he said, “how lips painted perfectly with discretion can never be discreet.”

“Why should I be?” Cried Kagome. “Weird—just like I said. Whatever that  _look_  was, whatever it was about, it was exactly that.”

Not knowing disrupted her life. It wasn’t lust,—she didn’t think—or malice. Rather utter thrall. The kind of self-possessed stare that comes with deep breathing and two hot points driving into the back of an unsuspecting’s neck.

She took a step back, and another.

It was best for both parties to keep all fangs, claws, spells, hell cries and whatever one could hurl across a room—just in case—to themselves.

By now, Sesshomaru longed to be away, far away from her, and out the confines of her bedchamber to reflect. But he made her wait, decided against disobeying the only conviction greater than his—Inukimi’s—and slowly said:

“... my lord.” Kagome made a face at him. “Be it that or whatever variation your syntax is capable of. Do not call me down. Do not call me any kind of creep or bastard or… what was the other?”

“Prick." There was no hesitation. “I called you a prick.”

This earned her his glare.

“Or  _prick,_ ” he reiterated. “Do not forget this. Recite it during meal times. Take it with you to bed—do what you must to not call my name in vain.”

Protective of his dignity, he left. And not till he was out the door and standing in the hall did he try to catch his breath.

_Sesshomaru_ was not weird. He had peculiarities, what demon didn’t? Weird was his experience in her bedchamber. It almost made him wish he were blind to not have seen what he saw.

He called his ward, and so began their day.

As they walked without speaking, Kagome’s mind drifted to stupid things—like his smooth gait. With nearly a foot in height difference between them, his long legs, keeping pace should be a struggle. But that wasn’t the case. He moved in a tempered way as if slowing mid-stride. And he made absolutely no sound. Her feet sounded no matter how light she stepped, but Sesshomaru’s were as if he glided along on velvet.

Kagome pulled away from his illusion, unsure why she was bothered by this discovery.

She asked a question.

“No more words,” he said leading on.

There were more words.

“To think this—you, is all I’ll have to look forward to, and for the rest of my life.”

If her intention had been to offend, she missed him by a good distance. But Kagome need not fret, Sesshomaru was wise for a three-hundred and six-year-old.

“Decades pass like days for demon-kind. Take solace in your short, miserable life, and all the paths that can lead you out it.” He cast a glance over to her. “Childbirth, disease—the time it takes to fall off a horse, I could go on.”

Kagome needed to collect herself. Anyone else and she might’ve been impressed. She had no retort and no ointment for the cut of his ruthless tongue.

And to his silent steps, truly velvet-footed, Kagome followed. Nothing but the rustling of silk as they walked through a passage and into a scarcely decorated hall. At the bottom of winding stairs, she heard many voices, but they bypassed them and crossed an indoor court with a roof made entirely of stained glass.

“Tell me this at least,” Kagome started to say. “If I ain’t—“

“ _Ain’t.”_

Her growl sounded more dog than human.

“If notscrubbing the floors, then what?”

“ _By my side_ _._ Out into the fresh air and sunshine.”

“Why are you swelling up? I was just wondering.”

“Because my hand was forced by the queen,” he answered solemnly.

“Why?”

It took Sesshomaru a while to respond. When he finally did, it seemed to have come from the depths of his despair. Kagome talked so much… the girl just  _talked so much_. He wasn't going to make it.

“We’re to be familiar with one another.”

“The queen said?”

“Regrettably.”

“Oh.” There was an awkward pause. “Does she know I don’t like you, m’lord?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s your honorific. Enjoy it, m’lord. Bask in it.


	13. His Better Nature

It was morning. The sun was rising. The grass was wet with dew. Master and slave were very upset. Whispers of gossip floated about them as they scandalized the kingdom by crossing the court. None had ever accompanied Sesshomaru on this path, and it was quite a sight for all.

Traveling through, the sneers now behind them, Kagome was in awe of the estate. It was the first she’d seen it from high ground. She had also assumed all lived inside the Shiro, but spread out in four directions lay the  _kingdom,_  and not every citizen was a servant, nor were they Inuyoukai.

They walked on in silence. In the distance, a structure rose up from the horizon. Beyond it, nothing but wilderness and woods.

Then Sesshomaru was struck by a scent that caught him up. He focused to better find the words that would make it explicit for him, as there were many. It was the bright scent of happiness, the gentle delicacy of a lover of fruits, mild and soft and tinged with salt. It was not the spring air or the fragrance which lingered on a slender throat. It was her. Uniquely Kagome. Neither pleasant or bad. Just her, and very happy. Even so, he found a reason to be cynical about it, assuredly gathering that, as if a pet, all she needed was to be walked daily.

He felt his fangs against his lip. It almost upset his face he was so darkly amused.

They stopped at a stable.

“Wait here,” Sesshomaru instructed, grim all of a sudden.

Curiosity got the best of Kagome.

“What’s inside?”

“An agonizing death from the hinds up.”

Kagome took a step back after learning who could give such a death. “Why do you have a bear?”

“A question I cannot answer,” he stated, but without the tone of surely I cannot, but rather, leave it be. “She’s my first and last.”

“Too much for you to handle?”

Sesshomaru shook his head once. “They die,” he said. “Too quickly they die.”

A strange note caught in Kagome’s ear. She looked to him, studying his height by the door, his elegant profile, the long, white fingers pulling at the latch. Nothing in his face, nothing in his posture, just the wind in his hair as he entered without a backward glance. She must have misheard in the wildest way imaginable. She knew his nature. He had shown her. If there is nothing to feel, there is nothing to feel. And Sesshomaru was unburdened by feelings. He felt for no one and no-thing. His heart moved to a single, loveless beat that even the heights of ecstasy could be so arrogantly ignored.

The day was too warm and lovely to spend it basking in his wind chill. She left him to the quiet commotion inside and strolled down to a gathering of honeysuckle vines.

Shortly after, Sesshomaru opened the door, his walk stiff. He used to hunt for this bear, but now that her teeth were badly worn, she could hardly tear off a morsel.

A few weeks ago he smelled it on her breath, her failing kidneys, the sweet stench of decay.

This would be her last spring.

Sesshomaru trailed Kagome’s scent through lush, wet grasses, still so bright and happy. It filled his nose, forcing out the dying’s sick. He spotted her across the fields, pinching on her tongue the nectar from honeysuckle blooms. A horde of  _“whys”_ crowded his mind as he towered over her, dumb and mute, utterly mystified by his girl-thing. What should he say to this? Entirely too wild, he thought, careless of anything but present amusements. Patience was not in him, not for this foolishness.

“Stop eating the flowers,” he told her, and to his surprise, Kagome was agreeable to the command. She stood and followed without the slightest shift in spirit, determined to bear no more of him than what was necessary.

They climbed a hill. At the bottom, another stable. But as they descended, Kagome saw the flash of a pale hand and stopped. Sesshomaru pressed a finger to his lips. He seemed to be listening for something, and she listened with him.

Silk rippled in the passing breeze, shimmering white sleeves falling in long graceful folds. Sesshomaru was a marble statue with great hearing, his sense of smell greater. The direction of the wind changed. And he moved, much too fast for Kagome to see, the settling of silver hair the only suggestion that he had indeed moved. She reeled where she stood. It was slightly disturbing that he returned from where he went with a rabbit in his claws, that she hadn’t realized what happened until she heard a muted crack. He turned to her, his face utterly impassive, a thrill rising up in her as he stared. There was something in the stillness of this look, an unearthly stillness that made her feel like she was intruding in on a private ritual.

“Move now,” he said, and on towards the stable.

“My God!” Kagome remembered she had a pair of perfectly functioning legs. “I blinked…” she stammered. “And I was looking right at you…”

“ _Hnn._ ”

“So fast,” she said, as though out of breath.

“Try not to state the obvious,” he told her. “It bores me. You bore me to hatred.”

“Oh, bore this!” Kagome caught up, her steps falling into his. “You left your shadow behind!”

Sesshomaru sighed. It was nothing. His nature had lost its novelty when he was small and his mother seemed giant to him.

He issued no warning for this stable. He pulled on two latches, which he opened wide to the fresh air. Inside sounded a series of clicks, the scratching of tiny feet.

Kagome lingered under the door. “Is it dangerous?”

“Hardly,” assured Sesshomaru. He walked inside.

Kagome padded once and froze. She turned and scanned the woods at the edge of rolling fields. She sensed movement, at least she thought she did. But she saw nothing and wanted to know what Sesshomaru planned to do with the rabbit.

He was pulling the animal from its skin when she entered. And on a perch and waiting for the meat was a cat-sized reptile-thing. Sunlight reflected on its black scales, passing through its leathery wings and giving them a burgundy tint.

_So that’s what it was for._

Sesshomaru proceeded to slice off strips of meat, trying to get the hatchling to take it without biting—and failing miserably. His patience was incredible. He brought his bleeding digit to his mouth, the blood of the rabbit mixed with it, which was like ambrosia having fed on the sweet grasses from which he had plucked it. He cut another strip, the wound already healed.

“Is that a dragon?”

“A false dragon,” he answered. “A kind of lizard.”

“No, I mean is  _that_  a dragon?”

Sesshomaru turned to see A-un galloping toward the door, then turned back.

“Indeed. And you may want to step—”

“It’s huge!” She cried.

The dragon came to a sudden halt, throwing its hulking shadow over Kagome. She said something to Sesshomaru, and he briefly regarded the situation, casual as ever, before A-un turned to him.

Kagome watched as they gazed at one another in a silent knowing from which she was simply excluded. An intelligent creature, A-un understood quickly. The pink thing is his master’s latest, never to be harmed by his fangs or claws. What he didn’t understand was his disdain for her. Sesshomaru reeked of it, and A-un needed to investigate.

Kagome backed into a wall when the dragon extended two necks at her. He towered over his master but she was like an ant to him, and much weaker. He sniffed her deeply, his warm breath rolling over her skin, making her utter a noise that put the silliest twitch in his tail.

Sesshomaru paid no mind to this. He proceeded to feed his lizard—who proceeded to bite him each time. And he was content to ignore what transpired across the stable until the giggling started. Two noses nuzzled his ward’s neck, her scent spiking to new heights of delight.

At first, this is was fine. Sesshomaru was composed, and Kagome giggled on. Then he tried to be more composed, and she giggled harder than before. In the end, she giggled him out of his composure.

“Cease your racket this instant.”

The laughter stopped, stifled, as it were, in her throat. A-un stilled and tolerated his master’s command, but he could protest! Kagome was a fascinating… whatever it is that she was, and even his master’s call failed to keep his claws rooted to the ground. He had more play in him than he knew what to do with, and most unbecoming of a young lord’s beast, he pranced in place as Kagome raised her hands to him.

Sesshomaru was wrong to dislike her, and A-un could not be convinced otherwise. He felt this strongly as her fingers caressed him, a hand for each head; rare affection for him. Kagome could tell, he seemed starved for her touch. She also suspected, though big as he was, that the dragon was fairly young.

A penchant for whimsical nonsense lived in his eyes.

She leaned in between both heads and whispered, “I know the pressure, the  _strain_  that comes with being his. Let’s make a break for it.” A-un uttered a guttural sound, clicks that were felt more than heard. Gently, he placed a head on each side of her shoulders, endearing himself to her. A-un was the friendliest creature for miles.

Kagome thought she loved him. Another such gesture and she might say something quite ridiculous like that.

Sesshomaru heard the heresy but kept to his task.  _His_ dragon was loyal. He roamed the kingdom’s hillside and not a step beyond. A-un’s youth made him susceptible to foolishness, nothing more.

Then, a thud, heavy as if some colossal weight had fallen. It spun Sesshomaru around so quick his breath left him.

“ _Enchantress!”_  he hissed. “What have you done to him?” Rage. Pure rage coming from him as A-un lay on his side, Kagome sitting on a massive forelimb and scratching underneath it.

“I haven’t done anything,” she said and still scratching.

Terrible. Unbecoming of a mystical beast.

Sesshomaru called his dragon only to be ignored, and he half-believed Kagome did, in fact, bewitch him. Again he beckoned, and again A-un did not move, content to submit to mortal hands.

This wounded Sesshomaru.

“A-un,” he said, his voice touched with the first softness Kagome had ever heard in it. “You would disobey me for her if she scratched you… ”

Everything came to an abrupt stop.

Sesshomaru didn’t mean to. It had slipped out his knotted throat. But he was hopelessly his master, and for the life of him could not raise his voice to the beast, nor could he bear to see his father’s gift to him arranged in an undignified way.

Kagome’s mouth hung open.  _The dragon’s his soft spot? … what!_

And if there was any doubt, all she needed to do was to look closely. Subtle it was, his face seldom moved. It was like placing a stone on a mountain, then deciding to resolve it from all the other rocks and craters with her naked eye— _that’s_  how subtle it was. But once she noticed she couldn’t unsee. Amazing how one half of his face showed one emotion, the other something else. Love in his eyes but a grimace tugging at his lips.

Kagome continued to stare, fascinated, and saw the sharpest point of two white fangs. She knew he had them, but they too were seldom seen. Then she realized, almost suddenly, this had been foreshadowed in the lizard, in the bear—and was something wrong with the latter? How did she not see what had been so obvious? 

“Better do what he says,” she told A-un. She climbed off his arm so Sesshomaru could scold him for his behavior and the mess.

“You wait there,” Sesshomaru said to her. “You’re next.”

Kagome quietly reflected by the lizard. Fat and happy, it had fallen asleep. How bad could one be if they held secret affection for simple creatures? And why didn’t he have any for her? For that, she knew  _why,_ but it seemed he allocated it all to his… pets? A-un in particular, whom he was blatantly possessive of, as jealous as he was of himself, his body. 

“Ridiculous.” His voice interrupted her musing. “... truly? Her! Because of her?”

“He can understand you like that? Just talking to him?”

“Of course he can.”

Kagome carefully approached.  _By his side, as he’s said all day._ “What did he say?”

“He said,” Sesshomaru paused and took a breath, heightening her anticipation. “And I’m paraphrasing... but he likes you very much and…”

“And?"

“And he would be most cross with me if unable to see you again.”


	14. Vacancy

Just the wind and dark trees, the stars over darken hills and Sesshomaru standing outside the stable. 

She hadn’t always lived this way, confined. She used to roam and forage during spring and summer, and he was content to watch her enjoy the spoils of his territory.

He thought to keep her comfortable in her final days, give the bear foods she needn’t chew, that she may relax into death with a full belly.

Sesshomaru pulled on the latch.

It all bothered him. The air, the untouched pile of berries and fish in one corner.

The stench was awful but nothing to the sight of her, the ghastly scene of apathy fixed to the floor, her body arranged just the same as he found her that morning.

In a daze, Sesshomaru moved forward.

He crouched beside her and listened, scarcely daring to breathe when a murmur rose from her, weak and filled with misery. Sesshomaru thought of himself as a selfish fool to think she would go quietly in her sleep.…

And as powerful as he was and would be, there was nothing, nothing he could do about this.

Sesshomaru offered her comfort with the press of his hand. He caressed all over, over fur that had long shed in volume and in luster, over wasting muscles and bone. He sensed her agony. Knew it to be agony, though he had only been able to communicate with her in crude ways.

He never gave her a name.

Then came a momentary fear. His teeth clenched, and there was a pounding in his head. He couldn’t bear looking into eyes glazing over.

He tore into an artery with poison decisively more lethal and fast acting. If death would be so cruel to bide its time this was his duty and right; his mercy.

He sat crisply, pulling the bear down with him. "Go on then,” he rasped. “No pain." His own voice startled him, rage catching in an ugly grief.

The convulsions seemed to be incessant, unending until an abrupt arrest.

For a while, he sat there. Rage without direction. Betrayed and violated.

He let down the heavy skull; nothing more than a body of cooling flesh and blood to him now. But there was a vacancy in him. Secret yet true, that when pain seizes a demon even by one hair, the pull is profoundly felt. And in the silent pitch, finally, Sesshomaru let himself grieve. But he was not demonstrative. There were absolutely no tears. He didn’t grimace or utter a sound. It wasn’t possible for such a face to show anguish and despair this way, yet beneath his steady regard was pain and thoughts that were to all intents insane.

He was willing to be betrayed a second time.

And he needn’t go searching for this betrayal, to happen upon it as he had the bawling bear cub in the woods. He needn’t look anywhere but down from his lofty height and at his dominant hand, where each golden morning his ward spoke her half-truths and double-talk.

The absurdity of it blanched him from ear to ear.

Yet Sesshomaru didn’t hesitate to invite the thought. He had this epiphany last month, considered it, reflected on it, but never had to accept it until tonight. He couldn't help it. It was the quality that was the very nature of his father and therefore of himself. It came hard, spreading and growing as it did, opposing what was great and dominant in his mind, and, while he resented acknowledging it, strange to himself he was learning to embrace it. Sesshomaru was unlike his father in many ways, but more than anything he shared his need to provide and protect.

In truth, it got in the way of himself, manifested in curious combinations of arctic ice and dark torridity. Caught up and shut up, for years he struggled to categorize it, decided to let it be after Toga’s death.

And yet….

He liked the  _concept_  of Kagome. And he would go no further than this concept; appealing yet hopelessly unappealing. But he wanted something from her. More than ever, and quite suddenly, he wanted this something and needed her to let it happen.

But was he willing to endure her—grit fangs together if he must—to keep her near, quite near, close enough for mischief to leap out at him from her eyes to his, just to plunge into an obscenity as ridiculous as he knew it to be? Doting on another mortal? The same intimacy which drove his father to his senseless death? Insanity.

He shut his eyes. Not that intimacy. There wasn’t a place for it. No room for it in that sweltery place. She hadn’t awakened him in that way. What he had in mind was entirely wholesome,—and Sesshomaru was honorable, as befitting a young lord. However, though he knew this to be true, as honorable as he was, a saint he is not. And some unknown voice cautioned him for when the days of feeling honorable might be the enemy. 

Regardless, it seems he inherited Toga’s insanity.

He looked to the heap of uneaten fish and fruit and hoped Kagome would eat well come morning. Seeing her thrive would give him private satisfaction. Truly, the joy would be his. To sit opposite of her at mealtimes, he might stare without let or restraint, might fall into a stupor and take a grateful thrill from her. But to proceed with caution when doting in plain sight…. Kagome had to be none the wiser. If she thought to set down her chopsticks and meet his gaze she would be greeted by a face carved from ice.

The thought, which had the flavor of fantasy, wasn’t all private rapture, having all the pleasures that come with bending to instincts prodding and begging to be fed. He held some fear because, at times, Kagome seemed little more than a fox with a human face, her sly smile anything but sweet. He didn’t trust her, and if she saw his depth he anticipated her taking advantage in ways only humans could. A wayward Miko with erratic powers was the least of his worries—merely Inukimi making treaty moves. He felt this fear as hotly as the blood coursing in his veins. Cruelty lived in humans, and when it suits them they utilize mortality to pick apart and mistreat immortals.

When a sound came from outside Sesshomaru was on it like a dart. He unfolded his body, the graceful movement not entirely at his command, rather mere habit driven by fleeting cognizance.

It was A-un trotting clumsily into view.

Seeing something he hadn’t before, A-un froze under the doorway’s arch. He opted to stare at claws that had always been kind and not coated with the blood of who his master was kindest to. Sesshomaru steadied himself, something in his eyes pleading yet brooding. His lids came down slowly when A-un moved forward. Neither sound or youki had been exchanged. A-un simply understood. It slipped off his master like silk.

No noises or words as they wandered through the night. None were needed. It was as if the dragon could read the dog’s thoughts. Perhaps he could, the extent of his abilities unknown. Though Sesshomaru is a Daiyoukai he is still a  _beast_ . A-un too is a beast but a mystical one, closer to celestials of legends whose wrath may upset the weather.

A-un ignored the weight of a pale hand. Sesshomaru was very upset to have done this—grateful too that the dragon pretended to not notice the placing of his claws on scaly shoulders. A-un embodied security. Long-lived, their bond might endure until the end of the world.

Although… Sesshomaru could live without A-un first greeting Kagome each morning. It burned him terribly. Straight to the soul seething—all of which serving to make A-un's and Kagome's day most enjoyable. If the sight of each other drove them to delight, it was so much better for them but so much worse for Sesshomaru. They treated each other as if old friends, stumbling over themselves all while, in jealous conceit, golden eyes could only watch.

Through A-un the progression of hate into tolerance was quietly accelerated. Because  _play_  did not live in Sesshomaru—if it ever had, and Kagome gave his dragon what he could not readily give. Sacrificing slivers of pride for A-un was worth the cost.

Every red bit of resentment.


	15. All That Glimmers May Lie

This morning, Sesshomaru decided he wanted Kagome out of her clothes. It seemed ridiculous to have her parade around in anything other than a Miko’s garb, so he requested the services of the kingdom’s best tailor.

In a chair, and in one of his many private chambers, Sesshomaru glanced at the folding shoji screen across the room, where a silhouette with six arms moved behind it.

He turned over a page in his book.

“I wonder,” began a delicate voice, “if it’s sacrilege to don a priestess in demon silk.”

Parchment crinkling, Sesshomaru continued to read.

Kagome was entranced on the other side of the screen. With her carnation yellow hair, her pink, felt-like antennae, the moth youkai had a fairy’s likeness.

“A few threads here, a few there—and done! Oh, how lucky you are to wear my clothing. You must be special, quite special. I’m the best you know. I made the young lord’s fit and—”

“Kimochi.” Sesshomaru’s spirit was impatient, and once the moth started it was near impossible to get her to stop.

“There I go again.” It took a moment for Kagome to realize that what sounded like a grass-whistle was Kimochi’s laughter.

“Are you a slave too?” Kagome’s whisper may as well been a shout.

“A slave?” The moth’s large eyes—more pupil than iris—grew wide. “Is that what you are? Curious and curious. The generals themselves do not wear my silk. The fondness your master must have—”

“ _Kimochi._ ”

“Best of luck to you,” she said quickly. “There are worse fates.” The moth ushered Kagome from out behind the screen and under Sesshomaru’s scrutiny.

He gestured for her to spin around, and like a boar on a spit Kagome had done so. Red hakama divided at the legs and long, ivory sleeves, she looked like a Miko.

Her praise delayed for reasons unknown, Kimochi said: “If I may recommend an appropriate hairstyle for a priestess of her rank…. ” And when Sesshomaru asked without words: “Yes, I know some things. I know all things fashion and I know her hair should be unbound.”

He had listened carefully, discovered he did not know much about Miko as Kagome’s hair came down her shoulders in a wave of ripples.

Kimochi heard a sigh and saw a hint of princely displeasure on a pale face. “My lord?”

Sesshomaru inspected his fare from the ankle up. “It’s not at all what I had imagined.”

Antennae drooped. “But traditional is what you told me, and this is the way the garments behave.” In the growing silence, Kimochi stood by her work, set a motherly hand on it. “Share with me your vision. The first that leaps out at you is it. No matter how vague I will bring it to reality because I am the best!”

It was then Kagome tore from the lamp and at Sesshomaru. She looked upon him with a dull expression. Nothing unusual in being objectified by him and nothing she could do about it. On the bright side, pants were liberating. She might be able to mount A-un and escort her master to novel forms of rage.

Kimochi reminded Sesshomaru of her bid.

Such clutter in his mind.

“The sleeves should be longer, the waist tighter”—seemed to be thinking—“tight enough to arch her back.”

The moth’s brows drew together. “Her back?”

“Her back,” said Sesshomaru in his deep and slow voice. He ignored Kagome starting into attention. “I want the illusion of easy grace, the slightest movement... as if a shiver.”

“Ah,” gasped Kimochi. “Ah, I understand completely.”

Multiple arms worked quickly to lengthen Kagome’s sleeves to her fingertips. And seeing that Sesshomaru was pleased with this, Kimochi gathered her behind the screen to make adjustments. The moth made a claw, and careful of Kagome’s underlayers sliced down her outermost.

It seemed to be one of those inexplicable things. A movement too quick, a burst of youki, silken strands manifesting from nothing—Kagome yelling as if ranting about something.

Their shadows were separate enough that Sesshomaru could make out the shapely contours of her body. He forced himself not to stare—his heart would thunder—but after reading the same sentence for the third time he shut his book.

“Bring it in,” the moth told her, drawing the threads.

But there was nothing for Kagome to bring. “ I swear to you….”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Kimochi tittered, a puppeteer with her marionette, “your master’s pretty face—swear to him and not me. Now, hold on, don’t fall and  _Suck. It. In_.”

“Wait a minute—” Air rushed out Kagome’s lungs, and she swore her ribs were touching. “Okay, okay. It’s tight enough!”

Watching this, Sesshomaru’s breathing became more pronounced. He blinked from the noisy spectacle, and with his eyes roamed about the chamber. Mere curiosity,—what he told himself—and since it had been satisfied he decided that they weren’t there, that the great table across the room was as good as any to stare at.

Kimochi offered her sympathy. “I know it is unpleasant, but give the silk a moment. It will mold to you as if a second skin. Will cool you when you’re hot and warm you when you’re cold.” And when Kagome seemed to struggle: “And stain resistant too. Important for your line of work.”

Now the moth held her head high as she presented Sesshomaru with her alterations. For she knew by the set of his shoulders that she captured the vision of his ego and that the result was vastly satisfactory.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Kimochi.”

“I’ve told you,” she said, gathering her things and slipping towards the door, “I’m the best!”

And gone.

Admiring herself in the mirror, Kagome had to admit, the clothes felt as good as they looked. She recognized herself this way. Free and loose. The fit around her waist was merely an illusion.

She heard rustling behind her.

“Come here,” Sesshomaru said as he stood.

Slowly, she moved to him, dark hair swaying, shivering as if hit by a cool breeze. At first, he thought it was a delusion but knew it wasn’t the right interpretation.

Truly, the moth was the best.

He reached for her, and Kagome submitted to the situation with the confidence of one just washed. He inspected Kimochi’s careful work, touching the collar slightly open and the silk of her neck with reverent almost reluctant claw-tips.

But something passed between them.

An exhilaration took hold of him, growing and intensifying.

Deepening unease nagged Kagome. This gaze was felt like the hand at her throat. Alarm went through her. Never in all her years had she been threatened with reverie quite like this.

She stiffened and pulled away from him. “Is personal space a concept demons struggle with?”

“You, and your insolence”—odd toss of voice. He didn’t sound like himself. “Gratitude would have sufficed.”

Kagome turned to the mirror again and muttered something to herself.

“Who are they?” Sesshomaru asked.

More curiosities coming from him.

“Nobody,” she answered.

He turned horribly serious suddenly. “Keeping secrets?”

“Nothing like that,” she said, waving him down, “just none of your business.”

“Know that was not a request.”

Kagome stared up at him and let out a dry laugh. “I could lie. Then what? Are you going to beat it out of me?”

He looked up from her waist. It was the way the light hit the shining threads. “ _What_  a beating it would be.”

“Will the beatings continue until I tell you?”

“Until morale improves at least.”

Such regal sounding depravity. She stared for a long moment. “Beat me happy! Figures you’d have a dark sense of humor.”

Sesshomaru tilt to one side; a dog hearing something new. “Is that what you think it is?”

She honestly didn’t care. “Can we go out now? I want to see A-un.”

“Certainly not,” Sesshomaru said with decision. No, he did not have the finesse for patience right now. He wanted answers. “How have you managed in your previous life? A young girl amongst thieves would have to sleep with a dagger in each hand and with her back against a wall.”

“I’ve been through plenty, even cut a bastard or two, but you’re the closest anyone’s got to taking my dignity.” She saw him stiffen, the lamplight in his eyes. “Really? You  _own_ me, you know.”

“A circumstance you’ve brought upon yourself.” A slight movement of comprehension from her, then bitter silence. “You twist that small mouth of yours, damning me—claimed I’ve robbed you of your dignity. One should only be so ignorant.” He paused, thinking. “There’s  _dignity_  in obeying your master.”

The last was almost proudly asserted.

Kagome folded her arms.

“Says the one who can do anything. Snap your fingers and it’s done.” Her tone was simple. These were facts. “What will I be tomorrow? How will you dress me?”

Sesshomaru felt an odd self-consciousness, a feeling distinctly new and unusual. Flooded with the power he had over her, her awareness of it, it heightened the air between them. “This,” he started to say, low and monotonous, “was done for your benefit.”

A touching thing to say. Yet Kagome’s spirit told her Sesshomaru was lying. If not that then a half-truth. Some measure of satisfaction was behind those words.

“How have you managed being what you are?”

Not right at all.

“I won’t answer,” she said.

Sesshomaru pressed on. “Were you born of them? When I speak to you do not avert your eyes.”

“I hate this.” So gentle, so polite, her mild little voice. “You can beat me now.”

Alarm behind his ears, waiting for the uplifting of darkly shaded eyes.

“Where do you come from?” A sigh fell from her lips. She turned into profile, and he ventured up and down the soft splendor of her hair. “Answer.”

“No.”

Sesshomaru moved a little closer; could tell the individual strands of that dark-shining hair. “You want me to beat you,” he said, more rhetorical than threat. Kagome remained adamant. There wasn’t a trace of wavering or fear or the scents they can produce. Scanning small, delicate features, his tongue pushed at the back of his teeth, at his fangs. She may bow, may even go tensely into surrender, but she will never scrape to him.

However, though she had none for him, she was loyal to whomever “they” were. Admirable, he admitted in the privacy of his mind.

“Ask me a thousand times. You’ll get the same answer.” Kagome was about to say something when the words died in her throat. There was a curious gleam in his eyes, a worrying thing to see under the thin veneer of humanity. It had been easy to find humanity in him while living in absence of it. Ignoring slit, golden eyes, fangs and claws made it a simple thing to do.

Now she realized how obscene that was of her.

But so long as it wasn’t the  _other_ look, the one strangely tender and fierce and to all intents possessive. For what reason she did not know, wasn’t sure if she wanted to. She hadn’t seen it since that day in her bedchamber and was inconsolably grateful for that.

Kagome had more sense than she let on. She had observed him and knew Sesshomaru was exactly what she had perceived him to be—though at the same time, something else. She  _did_  know his type. She also knew the ego can become a fragile thing when not tended to. Neglect a lord’s all but once and his day is surely ruined.

But plain flattery wouldn’t do. Not for a demon such as him.

She had an idea.

“Thank you.” The sudden sweetness of her voice made him relapse into a pensive silence. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Have I pleased you, m’lord?”

Sesshomaru narrowed his eyes down at her. That condescending tone, that accent—a decent attempt if not for what rode the end of it.

Kagome could do him one better.

“Not at all it looks like,” she went on. “Mayhaps I’m standing too tall. Groveling on my hands and knees then?” 

Composed, articulate, yet still completely rude and patronizing. Sesshomaru was confused behind his mask, and not at all comfortable with the feeling.

She smiled the smile he didn’t trust. He fell for the hallucination anyway. “Do you like this,  _my lord?_  Sechi taught me. Such a funny word, ‘mayhaps—’”

“You,” he said, and turned from her. Then he turned right back. “You—” He honestly had no idea. He glanced about the room, at the door, back to Kagome again.

Seeing him mute, pondering above her, it took everything she had to not laugh at him.

He finally managed to say something. “Sechi was it?”

The pain of holding it in. Her throat ached.

“As you commanded,” Kagome gently reminded.

“Yes, of course.” As if Sesshomaru needed reminding. “You never needed lessons, did you?”

“Funny,” she said, “Sechi asked me that too. I think she took pity on me, kept it a secret.”

Standing in strung-up attention, he had but one question. “Who are you?”

“Your Miko slave,” Kagome said slowly. She raised one arm in a graceful arch, her sleeves folding in illustration as she bowed. She could carry herself in any fashion, the intricate patterns and the silk’s sheen would add elegance to it all.

Sesshomaru might let this illusion pursue him in his dreams. If he touched the fabric would be smooth and cool.

Staring at her, he realized he was gripping the linings of his sleeves.

“You’ve teased enough so spare me your games.”

Kagome dipped her head to one side, a girl imitating a dog. “Is that what you think this is?”

He had limits that were swiftly nearing, and though his face had darkened, he spoke evenly. “I don’t care much for mockery either.”


End file.
